A Good Man
by Stelthykat
Summary: Roy Mustang was expected to become a good man, he was also ordered to not lose himself in his alchemy. He hadn't expected, however, to be cooped up with a deranged man and his daughter. My take on how Mustang met the Hawkeye's and just how deep their madness extended. Will take place from their teens up through when Riza reveals her secrets. Spoilers ahead! Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So if anyone's interested my long term FMA story: In the End is on hold, I've lost the gumption to work on it and have it be good so I'm putting it on the back burner and working on some minor stuff for fun. Hopefully then the plot will clarify itself again and I'll be motivated. So this is my take on how Mustang met the Hawkeyes. So far it's rated for language, I've got some darker stuff planned. Upfront updates may be sporadic. So here it is, enjoy.

I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or it's characters, I've taken some liberties with estimating the unclear such as ages and circumstances so if there's anything terribly wrong with my information please feel free to correct me.

* * *

Roy looked up at her. She was hulking to him even though he was fifteen and suppose to be 'growing like a weed'. What a load of bullshit. He looked up at her, trying to keep his stare as passive as possible, until he remembered that with this woman that was damn near impossible.

"You want what, Roy Mustang?" her voice as gruff as ever and with the smell of smoke, alcohol and perfume surrounding her Roy fought the urge to fling himself down and accept defeat. He had never seen eye to eye with Madame Christmas, hell – he had never _wanted _to see eye to eye with her. She was about espionage, her room upstairs was littered with the amount of spy books. She was about cunning and wits, about playing people to get what she wanted and about using her 'staff' (though Roy had quickly found out what the meaning of 'companion' had meant in these cases) to utilize people's stupidity. "Roy?" she flicked her cigarette into her ash tray and looked at him, frowning as she did so.

"I said," he could have slapped himself for how brash and bold he sounded towards the woman, "that I wanted to study alchemy." He felt more than heard her temper and nerves steel themselves and prepared himself for the fight.

"And did it ever occur to you Roy that there are no alchemy teachers here?" she exhaled harshly and put her hands on her hips, "And that alchemists are rode hard and put away wet like a common street nag?" she smirked a bit at her own joke and Roy rolled his eyes in response.

"Enough with the humor _Madame,_" he snorted, "I get it already, it was funny the first nine times. And no – that does not stop me from wanting to learn." He bit back the retort he had formed, hoping to catch this fly with the bottle of scotch rather than vinegar.

"Roy," he heard her sigh and for the first time since he could really remember she sounded more maternal than she looked, "I worry about you, and I want you to grow into a man that you can be proud of. I _don't _want you consumed and disillusioned about what should and shouldn't be." She blinked at him and brought a calloused hand to his shoulder. "I want you to still be that child who I held, and I want you to still be the same child who for the longest time thought he was part horse because of a wayward comment and his last name." she removed her hand and slowly removed her bottle of scotch from below the counter, and two glasses.

Roy felt himself swallow the lump in his throat. The only time they had done _this _particular song and dance routine had been when he had asked about his parents and how they'd died. His aunt had stayed up late with him, pouring multiple glasses of the strong substance that left the burning in the back of his throat clear, and deadened his tears. Whenever Madame brought out the good scotch Roy knew shit was about to his the fan.

"That being said," she took a sip and gestured for him to do the same. Reluctantly Roy brought the glass to his lips and took a swig, placing it back down on the oak finished bar and waited for the strange substance to settle in the pit of his gut. "I want you to be happy Roy-boy." But the fact of the matter is we know no one. Now if you can find someone crazy enough-"

The front door's bell jingled, alterting both her and Roy to the sound of footsteps and the cloaked figure approaching the bar.

"Sorry," a gloved hand reached up and removed the hood from over his face, revealing a man in his forties, graying and bearing spectacles, and looking utterly pleased with himself.

"Speak of the nutcase," Madame grumbled, "What do you want this time of night, Grumman?" she gave Roy a small look and then gestured to a seat on the opposite end, fetching a third glass from her cabinet. "All the girls have gone off." She poured his and nodded to the dress blues that he was wearing.

"Nutcases?" he smirked, offering his glass upwards in a toast, "I like the term 'unstable' better." Grumman took a swig and placed the glass down, giving Roy a once over and nodding, "Why you've grown." Roy blinked and slowly remembered.

The nights of hiding on the stairs, looking down as a strange military man passed notes onto the indomitable Chris Mustang. The few glances and nods he received, the notes that he was given to give to his aunt. "Thank you." Roy muttered, taking another swig of his drink and pretending to be a seasoned professional, to be more grown up like the woman and commander in front of him.

"I'm gonna say it one last time Grumman, what the hell do you want?" Chris Mustang leaned over and looked into his eyes, preparing herself for any number of things. Information on another general, information on his weapons depot, information on-

"I couldn't help but nib nose and thought I heard your boy mention something about alchemy?" he grinned.

"I'm not '_her boy'_!" Roy protested, realizing with a flush that the man had said that not yet taboo word alchemy.

"Roy," his aunt gave him a look that clearly read shut up and then turned to Grumman. "Enough."

"Just thought I would recommend someone," Grumman threw his hands up in defense and nodded to the elder Mustang, "as compensation for the job I neglected to pay you for."

Chris Mustang was many things: dependable, bitchy, strong, and loyal. She considered herself a better alternative than a stranger in raising her nephew because she was family and family was all you had in the end. And Roy deserved that, Roy deserved a family, every kid did and she'd be damned if Roy suffered because of his parents' death and-

All too late she realized she had made the mistake of looking into her nephews eyes and seen the hopeful look, the wide eyed curiosity and childish innocence. _Aw hell_ she mentally grumbled.

"He's a sonofabitch and a class A asshole but he's a damn good alchemist," Gumman interjected, sensing her silence and the boy's eagerness. "I'll introduce you." He shrugged and blinked up at Roy, grinning at the hopefulness exuding off of the boy.

"Grumman," Chris warned, tapping her fingers on the bar, "What's the catch?"

He hesitated for a moment, then laughed, "None! I'm due for a call to the bastard and I'm reminded constantly of how I keep forgetting to pay you! My god – Selene is a pusher!" he chuckled.

Roy blinked up at his aunt, then back down to the man and felt his gut twist with anxiety. Surely she wouldn't force him to stay, surely she wouldn't make him forget this. He loved being around the girls but this was alchemy! Hell, he'd _dreamed _of it flowing through him and around him!

With a look passed suddenly and quickly between the aunt and nephew she looked back to Grumman and nodded twice, "Go ahead," she sighed, putting her hand to her head, "Go ahead and tell him about Roy-boy,"

"But leave out the 'boy' part of that name." Roy interjected, eyeing his aunt with a small, insincere glare.

"Is interested," she continued unfazed, "And Grumman?" she pointed to the door, "Get out and do it ASAP or Selene will be the least of your worries." As Grumman hastily exited with a small salute and chuckle Roy looked to his aunt who looked exhausted.

"Madame?" He put his hand out on the bar, gently touching hers, "I promise I'll be okay." He smiled, "I'll become a good man."

With a small, almost microscopic smile Chris Mustang looked at her nephew and grasped his hand, "I know," she whispered, "Now up to bed!" she barked, sending him off with a flick of her hand and sighing as he disappeared up the steps.

Chris Mustang took another swig of her scotch and then looked over to Roy's glass, still over halfway full and with another sigh took it and chocked it down. Sometimes she couldn't fathom why she had taken in the boy, why she had put up with his antics and blatant obstinacy. But one look at his face, glowing with happiness had reminded her of the toddler she had been handed at the coroners office. The toddler who in a place so dim and dark had found something (God only knew what) to smile at and call her 'Auntie Christmas' because 'Aunt Chris' was simply too hard and/or boring to say. And his face reminded her of why she accepted him and loved him so.

* * *

"There's a boy who's looking for an alchemist." Grumman growled out. "I've already pointed them your direction so don't say no because it's not an answer."

"That's for me to decide," the hoarse, low voice reminded Grumman of the other reason he had called.

"How is she?" he slumped in his chair, momentarily forgetting about the Mustang boy and instead switching topics.

A tense moment of silence passed between the two until the absent man spoke. "She's sleeping," a small sound crackled the phone line and the voice cracked, "I wish you would quit calling."

"And I wish I would get to know my granddaughter but we both know that won't happen." Grumman spat out, "And as for the boy you will at least meet with him and map him out."

"I don't take orders from you, _Colonel." _The voice on the phone spat out, his voice echoing for a few moments.

"You will take this one Berthold, otherwise I will come down there and collect her myself." Grumman gritted his teeth, "You expect an assistant, and here I am- offering one to you- but you refuse." Grumman snarled, "I have never agreed or even liked you but I put up with you because of that little girl and because like it or not my daughter loved you." Exhaling sharply Grumman waited.

"I'll give him one month," Berthold breathed after a long moment, "One month and if he gets along all right I'll take him on seriously."

"Good, I'll bring him by."

"No," Berthold breathed, "He'll find us by himself, send him by. Consider it an entrance exam." With a click Hawkeye hung up the phone and Grumman gently put his down.

Gently he picked up his picture off of his desk, gently running fingers against the face in it. A little girl, no more than seven or eight was sitting peacefully on a swing, her face lit up and her blond hair scattered everywhere. Maybe that was why on this yearly call he had spoken on the boy's behalf, the way his face lit up reminded him of Riza's, reminded him of how his granddaughter would be if she was ever a child.

And maybe, secretly in the depths of his heart, Grumman hoped and prayed that Roy Mustang would be nothing but a pain in the ass for his son-in-law.


	2. Chapter 2

_"And you be good," Madame combed his hair back and frowned, "I don't want them sending your sorry ass back here because you screwed up." Roy frowned up at her and pulled away. _

_ "Like I ever do!" he grasped his bag handle as hard as possible and nodded towards the train, "It's leaving so I'm gonna head on out." He gave her a wry smile, "I'll come back just so that I can rub it in your face." With a final grin he jumped on board the train, pausing momentarily as he realized the importance of the current situation._

_ He was out on his own._

_ With a beaming smile Roy hustled over to the nearest empty compartment and sat down, happy to get this trip done and out of the way._

_ Until the train was magically moving, shifting and whirring out protests as it gained momentum- and derailed, crashing and sending Roy flying through the window in a hail storm of glass and blood._

"Sir!" Roy jolted awake just as the first piece of glass jolted his skin and the steward jostled his shoulder. "Bad dream eh?" the man smiled a toothless grin and pointed, "We're coming up on Westshire, you don't want to miss it." The man winked and exited, leaving behind the stale air of being cooped up in a moving vehicle for three days straight.

As he stretched, Roy yawned and looked out the window, watching as the country side rolled by. Empty fields save for the few crops growing small in the spring season, or the animals wondering aimlessly about in search of food. It lacked the bustle of the city, the pressure and worries of who you might upset or bump into. He looked at the houses and found the quaintness of the farm houses more extravagant than the wealthy district, and more welcoming than the bar ever had. _Yeah, _Roy stood up, catching his balance and looking out the window with a giddy air; _I could call this place home for a bit_.

"Westshire! Westshire stop next!" the same steward's husky voice echoed through and Roy turned, marveling at how smooth the journal had been. Wincing as his sleepy limbs twitched and throbbed in unison.

With a flourish that only a Mustang could offer he flung the door open and relished in the thought of his adventure starting right here and now. With a smile in greeting to the steward, Roy ran a quick hand through his brushed back hair smoothing it out from its usual disheveled state. _Madame _had insisted he look presentable (as if he was anything but in everyday life). Grabbing his suitcase in the tightest grip he could manage he trudged up through the hall and up to the graying man.

"Watch yer step lad," the old man waved, catching a hold of Roy's arm to steady him as the train slowed and hitched to a stop. Throwing the small door open the steward stood aside and gently helped him out down the steps. "And you take care, ye hear?" the man waved and without another word slid the door shut as Roy gingerly walked away.

If the sight of the lazy fields and country air had given him a new hope then it held no candle to the smell of a lazy spring day. The gentle breeze brought scents of flowers, grain, and lacked the foul scent of factories and city life. Roy stood still for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, tasting the newfound freedom that he had immersed himself in and soon reluctantly opened his eyes.

The train station was a sparse platform, decorated by only a plain wooden bench and some sort of shrubbery that through lack of attention had begun to sprawl onto the staircase. With the crackling of steps and branches under every footfall Roy reached a free hand into his coat pocket and grasped the thin piece of paper that lay there. Pulling it out and allowing an exasperating sigh to pass across his lips, Roy held it up and read the directions, hoping and praying that someone would know where the 'Hawkeye home' was.

Which only begged one question in Roy's mind: _What kind of name was 'Hawkeye'?_

Taking in another deep breath of the fresh air Roy made his way down the steps and onto the dirt path that seemed to stretch on for ever. With each step a small cloud of dust settled upon his pants leg and with a small scowl of disapproval Roy gave up on trying to wipe it off, instead settling himself into the repetitive pattern of looking around for any house, appreciating the countryside, and then growling at his lack of success. An hour, a freaking hour had passed and still no such luck at finding the Hawkeye's.

"What if I can't find him…?" Roy spoke to himself, "What if I don't find him, he gets someone else and I go back empty handed!" He snapped himself out of his pessimism and looked over a field. As if a godsend a huge two story farmhouse blossomed over the hill, a wrap around porch beckoning and supplying the shrill tones of children playing. Roy smiled to himself, lost in the appreciation of his future master. A family, a farm as a hobby, locked out here in the countryside with only his alchemy and loved ones.

Without a second thought Roy Mustang lept over the wooden fence, rushing through the fields and clover, smiling wildely as the wind swept into his face and his feet tripped up, throwing his young body onto the muddy ground. With a face full of dirt and his pride in a somewhat compromised state, Roy eased himself up stopping abruptly when he felt something poking at his back.

An elongated snout, wet and cold and with hot breath breaking over his jacket and warming the skin beneath.

_Oh holy hell_…. Roy eased up, pushing the snout up with him and turned around, staring face first into the eyes of a gargantuan bull. Bulls had horns. Cows didn't. Right? Bulls were mean, cows weren't…. right? "Good cow?" he reached up gently and patted the nose, flinching when the bull snorted and stomped its foot dangerously close to his leg. "You're such a good cow-I mean bull!" Roy tried to reason as he slowly regained his footing and prepared himself to walk away from the encounter. Regain some of the lost dignity before meeting his teacher.

The first step landed him in disaster and made him contemplate why he was here in the middle of nowhere.

As if on cue to that one step the bull snorted and launched forward, eyes fixed on the Mustang boy and attempted to bull doze him over, horns launching themselves dangerously close to his face.

At that moment any sort of bravado or courage or pride left Roy Mustang and in a flash he was sprinting, suitcase forgotten on the ground, towards the house. Feet flying he didn't risk to look behind him and see the monstrosity bearing down upon him and instead opted for sheer speed and agility rather than knowledge of his imminent death and/or mutilation.

The thundering of hoofed feet brought him back to himself and into his plight. He was running out of oxygen. With harsh, labor ridden breaths Roy nearly sobbed in relief as the fencing grew closer and the children's sharp exclamations of surprise and laughter reached his ears. As the hooves clipped the back of his heels, and breath baited on his neck Roy took a final leap of faith and lurched himself over the fence, tumbling over himself in a mock summersault and rolling a few feet, knocking the remaining wind out of himself.

"Mamma! Mamma!" the children screeched, some with laughter to his chargin and others with a hint of worry, "Mamma!"

Roy rolled onto his back and looked up at the blue sky, batting his eyes against the waves of dizziness and oncoming headache that was sure to remind him of the bull-cow-whatever it was for a while yet to come. His breaths coming in harsh gasps that did little to replenish his oxygen.

"What is it this-" a sharp gasp and suddenly a woman came bustling into view, her long skirt wafting about her maternal frame and her face bright with concern. "Young man! Young man are you alright?" she kneeled down next to him and gently put her hand on his shoulder. "What happened?" she kept her voice low and the laughing children grew silent all too quickly.

"He almost got pummled by Bert." A boys voice sounded, "Got te give 'im credit, he's a fast runner!" the kid allowed a chuckle to pass through him and through the group collectively.

"Watch your tongue Rory!" she turned back into Roy's field of vision and for a moment he forgot what exactly had provoked him to jump the fence and run across the field like some ax murderer in all of Madame Christmas' murder novels. "Are you alright? What's your name?" she spoke quietly and looked at his muddied coat.

Roy took a breath and blinked, finding oxygen returning to his lungs and though his legs protested running he felt them tingle with awareness. "I'm…" he breathed out, gingerly sitting up and heaving in a breath of air, "I'm Roy Mustang." He gave her a breathy smile and coughed a bit as she somewhat impatiently helped him up, dusting his pants off as she did so.

"Well Roy Mustang," she stood straight and looked down at him, "What possessed you to pick a fight with Bert?"

"With who?" he asked, cocking his head and following her arm as it pointed back towards the field. Up against the fence, eyes as peaceful as ever stood 'Bert'. A huge muscular monstrosity of brown fur, muscle and hatred that in Roy's opinion would be better served between two slices of bread then sitting in a field. "Oh…" he looked at her and smiled apologetically, "I'm terribly sorry! I just got so excited and I couldn't help myself I honestly don't know what came over me!" he ran a hand through his hair in nervousness and blinked in surprise at the children.

"Yeah mom, he's a city boy alright." The oldest boy (who Roy could only infer was Rory) spoke, "So excited to see a bull!" he cackled with laughter, his blond hair and blue eyes bobbing as he cackled in laughter.

"You got excited to see cows?" she cocked her head and blinked, "Where are you from?"

"Oh!" Roy snapped to attention and smoothed down his hair as best he could, "I'm from Central. And it wasn't your cow I was excited to see it was you all!" he smiled in greeting, "I've been so excited to finally meet you all."

"He's a bit touched in the head aint he." Roy looked down the line of unfamiliar children (god there were so many!) and stared down any potential culprits of that remark.

"Shush!" their mother snapped, looking back at Roy with her hands on her hips, waiting paitently.

"You are the Hawkeye family, right?" he winced inwardly as the stares grew blank.

"Theresa!" the sound of thumping boots from inside the house made everyone glance at the door and stare at the bearded man who emerged, "I thought I heard the cows runnin-" he stopped dead as he stared at the newcomer. "Who's this?"

"Sir, I'm Roy Mustang." Roy nodded in greeting and bit the inside of his lip as he waited. This had to be the Hawkeye family, they had a farm, a happy home…. _Roy, _he chided himself, _You haven't even met the family yet! For all you know they live in a shack!_

"Okay." The man waited, quietly making his way over to stand beside his wife and looking at Roy with a curiosity behind his eyes.

"I'm your apprentice?" he offered, hoping to god there had been a mistake, he got the name wrong, they weren't expecting him to look like he did.

"What?" the man blinked and looked at Theresa, "What?"

"You're the Hawkeye's….right?" Roy wished he could go back in the field with Bert and let the stupid bull finish his work. "I met your bull Bert." He offered.

The man let out a laugh that echoed from somewhere deep inside and infected the entire family with its amusement. "Son we are many things, but we are not the Hawkeye's!" he clapped a hand on Roy's shoulder and smiled, "That who you been lookin for?"

"Hey, didn't you have a suitcase?" one of the younger girls spoke, her voice shrill yet strong.

Roy paled as he realized it was in the field with Bert the bull. "Uhm…" he blinked and cast a wary glance towards the patiently waiting killer. For a moment he debated about going back in and losing more of his pride to the cow.

"You drop it?" Theresa spoke, smiling gently and waving a hand to Roy, "Come on, you come in and get cleaned up and my husband will get your suitcase for you." She tugged on him and looked to her husband, "Go on honey," she winked, "Or are you too afraid of Bert?"

Roy didn't miss the jibe and certainly wasn't going to respond to it, he simply followed her into the house and felt the spicy air of cooking fill him. There was something about the way that the logs burned on the wood stove that reminded him of home, of the fireplaces in the bar and of reading beside Madame-

"Here's the bathroom," Theresa ushered him in, "Wipe up your face and then come out into the yard. I'm going to have Rory bring up Selene and you can help get her ready as payment for all our troubles and your travel fee. Holler if you need anythin." She smiled and laughed a little at her private joke, "Rory and Roy," she pushed him in and gently pulled the door closed, footsteps fading away into nothing.

Roy sighed and looked himself over in the mirror. This was the part in the crime novels where the family turned out to be deranged cannibals who acted all nice until they killed and ate you. He shook himself and looked into the mirror, trying to fix his appearance and wondering vaguely about what kind of beast Selene would turn out to be.

Pulling a handful of water from the bucket into his hands, Roy splashed it on his face, repeating the process until he had rid himself of the offending mud on his face and hands and had rinsed off his pants and shirt, trying to groom himself back into presentable condition. Giving his hair a disdainful pat he used another handful of water to slick it back and straighten it up, hoping that it would stay like that until the formalities with his teacher were over.

Deciding that that was about as good as it would get under the circumstances Roy hustled out of the bathroom to go help Rory, feeling a certain amount of dread at the possibility of Selene being Berts cousin once removed who had served a prison sentence and was-

A horse. Selene was a damn horse.

Roy froze on the porch as he looked at the stout, chestnut mare who tossed her head as much as the tether would allow at the flies. She wasn't tall by any means but she was muscular and looked (if the cow had been any indication) like she could win a fight with him and shatter his pride completely.

"You gonna help?" Rory remarked, grinning as he handed Roy a handful of leather. "Pa went out to get your suitcase and we need to get the old girl ready if you're wanting to get to the Hawkeye's before an ungodly hour." He looked at his own hand of leather and began to untwist it, deft hands plucking at certain straps until they were arranged to his liking.

Roy watched in a trance like state as his peer threw what looked to be a dog collar over her neck and tightened the buckles, securing it in place and tying up the other pieces of leather off of the ground and looking over at Mustang expectantly.

"C'mon. She don' bite!" he chuckled, then stared, slapping himself on the forehead, "Sorry, I forgot you probably didn't know how to harness!" he rubbed his head and shrugged, "Never been to the city, it's like a foreign country to me." He gestured for Roy to put his pile on her back.

Roy did so and fumbled alongside Rory until the flattest part was draped over her back, and a rigging with lots of open ends was on her hindquarters.

"This is the belly band," Rory pointed and handed the piece under her belly to Roy, "Tighten it to this one," as Roy did so Rory checked his work, humming in agreement when the band was tight enough and in place. "Then take this piece," he headed behind the horse and grabbed the longer piece of rigging, pulling it over her butt and lifting up Selene's tail, then taking the smaller piece and put it under her tail, handing the small end to Roy and nodding at an empty strap. "Buckle it to that." He checked the fitting and stepped aside, watching as Roy hesitantly hooked it and stepped back, waiting for something to happen. "That's te Crupper." Rory chuckled, checking the last of the harness and then grabbing a bridle. Putting it on Selene he handed Roy what looked to be the reins and gestured to the two metal loops, welded onto the leather. "Put them through that."

Roy slid the leather into them one side at a time and handed the ends to Rory who secured it to the bridle and looked at the horse.

"So what do you want with the Hawkeyes?" Rory asked, handing Roy the reins and darting around to the side of the house.

"I told you," Roy raised his voice slightly, but kept his eye locked on Selene, "I'm his apprentice."

"That crazy old man," he head Rory breath out sharply and come into view tugging a cart behind him, large enough for clearance over the horse visually, "don't take no apprentices." Rory laughed breathlessly, "now why did you really come here?"

"Do you need me to help?" Roy asked, watching intently as the boy shook his head and chuckled.

"Evading the question? Huh Mustang?" he brought the cart's traces over Selene and rang them through the leather rings that hung from the overall harness, securing one side to the rigging before going to the other side and doing the same, "You're a lot like old Selene here," he patted the horses neck and then stretched, as if his task had been particularly strenuous.

"How so?" Roy lifted an eyebrow and gently placed one hand on her broad forehead, gently stroking and petting the old horse.

"Well, yer both Mustangs!" Rory chuckled at his own joke and then leaned against the mare, "And yer both as dull as rocks!" he laughed outright at Roy's look of indignation and sputtering of half timed insults.

"Rory," the boy turned and smiled at the man, handing him the reins and winking.

"All yours pops! Do me a favor and make sure this Mustang gets there in one piece, he might fall outta the cart!" with a final wave at Roy, the boy walked back into the house.

"Well," the father smiled at Roy and handed him his suitcase, "you get in and put your suitcase in the back."

Roy offered a small smile and as gently as he could put his things in the back, ignoring the mud spattered suitcase and climbed gingerly in, wary of how the cart tilted at inopportune moments, and sat in his seat, watchful of the man and the horse.

More casual than Roy had been, the man clambered in and took his seat, gently pulling on the reins and directing Selene onto a dirt path and down a long and twisting lane at a brisk trot. An awkward silence ensued for a few moments as Roy struggled to find the right words to break the silence. The bumps and jolts brought him to himself and erased any words from his mind as he struggled to keep his seat and not look like a complete idiot flopping around next to his still chauffeur.

"So Roy," the man clucked to the horse and cast a short glance at the boy, "The Hawkeye's eh?"

"Yessir," Roy swallowed the tentative lump in his throat and nodded once, "I'm to apprentice with the alchemist there."

"And what do you think of Mr. Hawkeye?" Roy didn't miss the slight purse of the lips or the quirk of the eyebrow. If there was one lesson that he had always remembered from Madam Christmas, it was how to read people, and how to use that to your advantage.

"I don't know sir," Roy shrugged, "I've never met him." Roy offered a small smile, "I tend not to make judgments of people until I've met them myself."

"That's good," the older man smiled and clucked again, easing the horse into a faster trot, "And it's not sir, it's Leonard Dofter." The old man shifted the reins to one hand and extended the free one to Roy, who gladly took it and shook it as a gentleman should. Hard but not to hard, a few shakes and then done. Professional, to the point, and not demeaning to the other.

"Alright Mr. Dofter," Roy looked ahead and noticed buildings in the distance, "Where is the Hawkeye house?"

At this Dofter chuckled, "It's on the opposite end of town," he took up the reins again and nodded, "We've got a main section that's small but useful, and then on either side is farm country. You just lucked out and made the mistake of coming onto our land first." Dofter smiled.

"I hate to be a bother," Roy began to apologize, "I'm sorry for any trouble-"

"It was no trouble boy," the man smiled, "If anything it was a nice change of pace from the mundane everyday." He gave the horse more rein and chuckled as Roy blinked the wind out of his eyes.

"How long do you think it will take to get there?" he queried.

"Well," Leonard slowed Selene to a walk as the buildings grew closer and soon began to tower over them. "We've just hit the main drag so probably not more than thirty minuets more?" he halted the horse and Roy looked at him curiously, "Selene's not as young as she used ter be and needs a break bout halfway through to get her bearings." He nodded towards the buildings and took a breath, "This is where all our shops are, everything you could need and more for our small town." He smiled and seemed to relish in his home.

"Where is everyone?" Roy asked, looking around and seeing nothing but a ditch that seemed to go down quite deep. "I thought it'd be a bit more….busy."

"Just how big of a city you come from?" the man cocked his head and eased the horse back into a walk.

"I'm from Central." Roy blinked, watching the ditch intently as they walked past it.

"That explains it!" Leonard gasped, "That big of a city, only been there once but what in the world made you come out here?"

Roy looked down into the ditch and saw that in fact it was a graveyard, peaceful and tucked away in it's hiding spot. "I wanted to learn alchemy. There were no teachers around us."

"Thought Central had everything?" the man chuckled and Roy briskly turned away from the cemetery, this day was supposed to be happy even through this minor set back.

"Well, really the only alchemists around were military and they were more than hesitant to teach a kid." Roy didn't admit the fact openly that the State Alchemists were in short supply; they were far too busy and had no inclination to go back to the basics. Aside from the arrays Roy had watched drawn with so much youthful fascination the closest he had ever come to alchemy had been when he snuck into the state library only to be kicked out ten minuets later by a burly librarian.

"So you came out here to learn off of old man Hawkeye." Leonard smiled.

Roy watched as the buildings disappeared and in no time they were back into the country air.

"Bout five minuets now." He smiled, "They live within walking distance to the town, not as far out as us but a little bit of a hoof." As Selene picked back up a brisk trot Leonard seemed to grow more silent as the country side turned hilly and in the distance a two story house seemed to beckon. "That's them." He nodded.

Roy looked up at the house, and as if due to his mental urging Selene moved faster, her legs covering more ground than ever possible by Roy himself. It loomed like some haunted house would in a horror book, but as they drew closer he realized that what he had ordained as haunted and looming instead was nestled away in a field, no livestock surrounding it but the grass swaying in the wind.

* * *

As Leonard brought them up to the front door Roy looked in awe at the stature of the house. The outside was certainly not gorgeous but aside from the dilapidation it did have a charm to it.

"And here you are Roy." Leonard smirked, waiting patiently for Roy to climb out and retrieve his suitcase he waited until the boy had come to the side and thank him again before hustling off. He had no intention of being near the Hawkeye's for any longer than was necessary, lest he not come back to his family.

* * *

Roy looked up at the door and knocked, stepping back and brushing any remaining dirt off of his person. The sound of faint footsteps echoed in time with his heart and his throat tightened as they grew nearer to the door. With a subtle click the lock on the door gave way and Mustang instantly ceased his preening, squaring himself up and looking forward to greet his teacher – his master and begin his journey anew.

The short blond hair came into his view first and then, as slow as humanly possible a girl of about twelve stepped into view, her face drawn between a line of stress and annoyance.

"Can I help you?" she frowned, her hands still on the door as she eyed Roy up and down distrustfully.

"Yes, um…this is the Hawkeye house?" Roy laughed nervously.

"That would depend on who you are." The girl eyed him coldly.

"Oh!" Roy set down his suitcase with a light thud and extended his hand, "I'm Roy Mustang." He waited patiently for her hand to meet his. When it didn't he brought his back to his side and took a deep breath.

"Then, Mr. Mustang," she flashed angry brown eyes at him and gave a slight sigh in resignation of the fact that he wasn't going to turn tail and flee. "may I ask why you're here?"

He blanched for a moment and then swallowed back the lump in his throat, "You mean… you didn't know I was coming?" he frowned, "I- I'm the apprentice." He smiled reassuringly, "May I ask your name?" he hesitated for a moment and then pried, "I'm sure it's a lovely one."

"Flattery will get you no where Mr. Mustang, it did nothing to help the previous apprentices." She turned her back to him and pushed the door open wider, revealing a cobwebbed filled living room that had seen better days and a bucket filled with dirty, soapy water in the corner by the couch.

"Wait… apprentices?" Roy hesitantly followed her inside, "How many have there been before me? And is it wrong to want your name?" he grasped his suitcase harder and looked at her expectantly. He would not let a thirteen year old intimidate him.

"Oh there have been a few," she paused and turned around, a smirk on her face, "None so… _civilized _as yourself," she shrugged, "But there's a first for everything." She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him, "I doubt you'll stay long, Mr. Mustang." She looked up the stairs and called out, "Father! There's someone here for you!" with that she sighed and walked into a side room, leaving Roy standing in the living room and feeling utterly out of place.

Footsteps resounded from up the stairs and Roy looked up, fighting the urge to go cram himself in a corner and instead hoping that maybe, just maybe, his master would be more talkative than whoever that girl had been.


	3. Chapter 3

Roy tried to look more at home, more comfortable and relaxed than he was. The footsteps above him on the staircase did nothing to help any anxieties and in fact only increased as they grew closer and a strenuous breathing was heard.

"I thought that Riza told you I'm not buying anything!" the raspy voice was heard and Roy started. Looking upwards past the banister of the staircase he saw a man, looking weary and drawn the man was taking shaky steps down the stairs, mild curses flung at the offending part of the house and lip curling into a scowl as he finally looked Roy up and down like a piece of meat.

In hindsight it was then and there that Roy Mustang knew the truth that his master would have no happy family, or be like the Dofter's.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hawkeye, sir," Roy smiled tentatively, "I'm your apprentice, Roy Mustang." He waited with baited breath for the greeting, the look of familiarity and…. Well, something other than the blank stare that Mr. Hawkeye was giving him.

"Apprentice?" he seemed to think a moment, before casting Roy another suspicious glance.

"Yes. You received a call remember." The girl, had Hawkeye called her Riza? Walked into the living room with a tea tray, holding it up the sweet fumes of tea and herbs invaded Roy and made him wish he'd at least be offered one. Anything to wash the taste of doubt and disappointment out of his thoughts and mouth. "A _boy_ named Roy Mustang was supposed to call today." She cast the grown man a look of cold indifference.

"How could I have forgotten." The man gave a less than half hearted smile at Roy and then gestured upstairs. "Riza, show him to his room and then to my study."

Before Riza could even offer him the tea or even a cup he was back up the steps, walking out of sight and down a hall until a door slammed shut and ended the fateful first encounter.

"So Mr. Mustang," Riza's light voice echoed from his side and Roy spun around in time to see her setting the tea tray on a stack of books, balanced precariously and threatening to tip over if given the opportunity, "I'll show you to your room." Her voice left no room for argument, no room for any sort of question and as she drew nearer to him Roy realized that he was staring. She was like the creepy child from any horror book that involved children and adults and murderous ghosts. As the sound of her throat clearing reached him he quickly picked up his suitcase and hurried to her side.

As the stairs creaked under foot Roy looked down at her and cocked his head, "So, how long have you guys lived here?" he looked for small talk, something to explain the house and their attitude, moving stress. There was no way in hell that such a talented alchemist could be like those bastards back in Central.

"Since I was born," she seemed to huff, pausing when they got to the top of the stairs to look at the closed door that was directly in front of them down the hall. Looking entirely uninviting and intimidating Roy looked at Riza's drawn face and waited, unsure of how to snap her out of her trance. "Mr. Mustang," she stepped forward and opened the first door to the right, walking inside and standing off to the side as Roy inspected the room.

It was very Spartan, a bed, desk and bookshelf being the only amenities of the room and the hardwood spotting only scratches and images of age. Walking over to the window to look out over the countryside Roy noticed that the windows were dusty, misty with either age or lack of cleaning.

"I hope it's to your liking," she nodded and shifted her position, her tone sounding everything _but_ like a hostess, "I'll take you to my fathers study when you're finished Mr. Mustang."

Roy gave her a smile and turned back to the monstrous task of plopping his suitcase on his bed. Satisfied with simply discarding the burden (and having no desire to unpack his freshly laundered undergarments that _Madame _had no doubt threw right on the top) he faced Riza once more and breathed out, nodding professionally as he waited for her to move.

The girl stood stock still and gave him a glare that rivaled any other that he had received from the people in Central. "What?" she hissed, frowning as he gave a shy smile. A pale, lithe hand came up to push a shoulder length lock of blond hair back behind her ear; and her head cocked almost curiously as Roy shifted nervously from foot to foot, waiting for the inevitable ball to drop. "Oh…." She drawled, her voice accumulating a stale tone, "Look at the ten year old, ready to pee his pants." She rolled her eyes and turned to walk out the door.

"I'm fifteen!" he yelped angrily, following after her with determination, "And your one to talk!" he fumed, happy to finally let his disappointment out, "What kind of girl has the attitude you do?! For a Masters daughter you're-"

Roy nearly collided with Riza as she stopped abruptly and turned on her heel, the same condescending glare back upon her face. "Whoever said I was his _daughter?_" she hissed, her hands balling into fists.

"It wasn't _that _hard of a connection to make." Roy growled back, realizing that this argument was heading somewhere he was not prepared to go. _It would be unwise to upset the Master's _daughter, his mind offered. _Not unless you want to go crawling back to Madame with your tail between your legs._ "Look," he breathed, his breath bated to prepare himself for the worst. "I'm sorry, it's just…. I wasn't expecting this and truth be told…. I'm an ass." He gritted the last part out, eyeing Riza as her face ceased the constant frown and instead softened just a fraction.

"Yeah," she breathed, turning back around and walking, "A major one."

The rest of the walk down the hall was spent in quiet silence, a reprieve of sorts until Riza knocked on an ornate wooden door that was decorated by a bird arising out of the ashes of a rampaging fire. "This is my father's study." She deadpanned, stepping aside as the sounds of shuffling feet and scratching on the paper echoed closer to the door.

"Come in." the husky voice spat, and Roy suddenly felt his feet go weak, "Come one!" It was as if the man inside knew of his predicament and soon Roy felt the draw of the voice and opened the door, stepping inside and wincing as the girl behind him gently closed it shut and her delicate footsteps died away.

The room was like nothing Roy had ever seen. Throughout his life he had always envisioned the alchemists' study as something organized. Professional, yet with the hint of scars from experiments gone wrong. This room however, this dank, dark room was nothing of the sort. Books lay haphazardly scattered, ink stains abounded on the floor and walls and remnants of ash and scorch marks clouded the window. And in the midst of it all sat a certain Berthold Hawkeye.

"Sir." Roy offered in greeting, smiling slightly to hopefully break the ever present ice.

"You decided to stay." Berthold murmured, amber eyes scanning the room and darting past Roy, while his withered hands splashed about the papers and proceeded to throw them into sloppy piles.

"Yes sir," Roy took a tentative step and let out a small sigh, "I'm determined to become an alchemist." He allowed himself a small, prideful smile and slowly sat down on the dusty floor, grimacing slightly as a thick cloud rose into the air.

"Everyone's determined when they're twelve." Berthold chided, body constantly moving and hunting through the papers. "You'll grow out of it."

Roy bit his tongue at the mans flippant attitude, bit his tongue at the urge to yell out that he was not twelve, or ten or fourteen- but fifteen years old and considered grown up enough to go out into the world by himself. "With all do respect sir," he began tenderly, "I'm fifteen years old and alchemy is the only thing I've ever wanted to do." He swallowed the lump in his throat and watched eagerly as Hawkeye stopped all movement and for the first time looked him in the eye.

For a long moment Roy thought that the man had frozen time, and was peering into his soul by looking into his dark eyes. For a moment Roy thought that the man would throw him out for insolence and that would be that, for a moment-

"And even if you knew all the horrible things alchemy could do?" he murmured, "The insanity it can drive you too?" there was a subtle glint in the mans eyes that made Roy instinctively shrink back.

"But it can do good too." Roy argued, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, "Like the state-"

"You will not mention those dogs in this house!" Berthold screeched, "I will teach none of them! I will not tolerate their blasphemy, nor will I blindly follow their rhetoric!" the amber eyes narrowed. "If that is your intention, then go." Hands resumed their scrambling at the papers and Roy let out a shaky breath he had no idea he'd held in.

"Sir," he began cautiously, "I have no desire to join the military at all." He swallowed his hesitation down and continued, "The only desire I have is to learn alchemy." Roy frowned at the hands ceased again, and the amber eyes met his.

Berthold Hawkeye was a strange man. Even more so, he was what Roy recognized to be a _dangerous _one. He was a man that (Roy assumed) would not hesitate to throw him out on the street and then beat him for not leaving fast enough. He was the type of man that Madame had never let into the bar for more than a few seconds and told the girls to stay away from.

"Please sir." Roy tried, bowing his head. He vaguely became aware that the worn hands had stopped scrabbling again and instead were moving cautiously, hovering protectively over the papers.

"There are different forms of alchemy," Berthold began, his dirty blond hair falling forward to cover the beak of a nose that was now pointed to the floor boards. "There's mineral; which deals with the organic compounds that make up this world, as well as the inorganic ones that make up the material things." Suddenly a piece of chalk was in Hawkeye's hand, with precise movements the once frantic hands gingerly drew a small circle in an even smaller space between stacks of paper and then the vein covered hands were placed almost lovingly on the circle's edges, keeping away from the inner intricate designs, and soon becoming covered in a blue glow as the circle reacted. The wood in it's grasp twisted and bent, resembling a small bird about the size of Roy's thumb.

"Amazing," he breathed, reaching a tentative hand out to gently feel the birds head, to prove to himself that the bird was there.

"There's purely medicinal alchemy which encompasses the organic compounds found in living things to fix, mend or even bend them to the alchemists will."

"But sir," Roy interrupted, his voice shrill, "Isn't that against the law-?"

"Do you speak in terms of military law, or the law of alchemy?" Berthold growled, his eyes ebbing away at Roy's certainty in himself.

"I suppose both sir," Roy blinked back innocently.

Berthold gave a small, almost imperceptible smile and continued, "There is a distinct difference between healing something and bringing something back to life." He shrugged, casting his gaze into the ceiling and sighing, "And there are better alchemists suited to answer your question than me."

Before Roy could query as to why Hawkeye was already continuing on, "And then there's-" he faltered for a moment and continued on more tentatively, a burning ember glowing beneath his eyes. "There's experimental alchemy." Berthold stood shakily and gave a sharp cough; startling Roy into attention and making him cock his head worriedly.

"Sir?" Roy offered, standing quickly as the disheveled man stumbled a few steps to the nearest wall and clutched at it. "Master are you-?"

"I'm far from your master!" he snapped, his eyes slowly regaining the fire though his coughing suggested an inherent weakness. After a moment of harsh coughing and wheezing Berthold stood taller, face set and determined to continue his previous movements. "For now you will have a theoretical approach to the two different types of alchemy." Roy lunged to open the door for the man and quickly moved out of the way as Hawkeye stumbled past him, gaze lingering off in the distance and shoulders trembling slightly.

"Sir?" Roy offered, trying to either say his goodbyes or get some hint of what he was to do.

"You'll stay here in my office, and you'll investigate the similarities, differences, and practical knowledge of Organic and Inorganic alchemy." Berthold wheezed, his face contorting in what looked to be pain. "Tonight you will report back to me with your research."

With trembling steps and even shakier breaths, Hawkeye descended the stairs, leaving Roy standing on the outermost edge of the papers and books. Looking at the dust covered window he saw that the sun was beginning its fall, and quickly sat down amidst the papers.

"Well," he murmured, sighing exasperatedly as the incoherent writing bombarded his brain, "Better get to work."

* * *

A/N: Not the best and I feel it's somewhat rushed but hey, keeps me occupied to write even the crappiest of stuff. I kind of ripped off chemistry with the whole Organic and Inorganic but I'm sure that I will be forgiven. If your interested, things should pick up next chapter.

As per usual: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of the characters.


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